The Pattern of my Cuts
by StuckonSuperWhoLock
Summary: Sherlock and Moriarty meet up at the rooftop of St. Bart's Hospital. It's not the Reichenbach Fall, not this time. Just two rivals casually chatting... However, are they rivals? Are they not? Do they even know what they are? {Sheriarty} [ Triggers: cutting, murder suicide ]


Sherlock Holmes sat in his flat alone. His loyal blogger, John Watson was out on a date leaving him all alone. Everyone thought it was John Sherlock loved, but they couldn't be more wrong. Sherlock was in love, but he would never say who and everyday he was without him, Sherlock would carve a tally mark in his arm. No one knew and no one would've ever guessed. "This would be the tenth straight day without him." Sherlock groaned as he took a knife and made a cut into his arm. The cold blade sent a shiver down his spine and the sting of the blade piercing skin and drawing blood made him flinch. However he felt no pain or regret. Once making his mark, Sherlock tossed the knife into a drawer he knew John never checked. Fixing the sleeve of his dark shirt, he threw on his jacket as well as his scarf and walked out of his flat. The detective didn't know where else to go. Everywhere the detective ever went, /he/ wasn't there. Suddenly, Sherlock's phone vibrated. "Miss me? I'm at the rooftop of St. Bart's. 10 minutes until we play? JM". The detective's eyes narrowed at the text. Sighing, he ventured off to the hospital anyways. It was no less than 7 minutes from where he was.

As he got there, he had 3 minutes to get to the rooftop before the detective's greatest challenge got impatient. Upon getting to the rooftop and throwing the door closed, the Westwood-wearing devil jumped up from the ledge from where he sat and briskly walked to Sherlock and paced in a circle around him. "Dear me, Sherlock. Is that blood I smell~?" Moriarty taunted as he grabbed Sherlock's left arm and roughly pulled up the sleeves. A hiss of pain erupted from the taller one. "Oooh!" The psychopath cheered. "Look at this! Ten tally marks carved into my dear Sherly's arm!" He smirked. "Whatever for?" He asked, his brown eyes gleaming. A minute passed and Moriarty's eyes darkened and his face fell. "Well gee. I didn't need an answer anyways. It's been ten days since you saw me, and apparently only I can see how in love with me you are, Sherly." His smirk returned as he saw the sociopath flinch. "So I was right?" He yanked the other's scarf to make it so he was staring into his eyes. "Daddy loves you too, Sherly." He said before kissing the detective and biting his lower lip. As the psychopath pulled away, Sherlock's pale cheeks turned a soft red colour. "How could you love me if you're the cause of the pattern of my cuts?!" Sherlock hissed.

"Simple. I love battle scars, even if the battle is with yourself." Moriarty sang as a finger trailed over each tally mark. Upon to getting to today's mark, the psychopath pressed down hard on it, drawing a soft groan from the detective who then yanked his arm away. Glaring at the psychopath, he finally began you speak up. "I might love you, however how dare you do this to me!"

"On the contrary, I never held a knife to your skin."

"You're the reason I did it."

"Harming yourself to get attention? Boy, do you REEK of desperation!" Moriarty laughed. Sherlock growled softly as he punched Moriarty in the face suddenly. Taking a step back, the psychopath looked to Sherlock, surprised. "Hmph. Well Sherly, I hope you know we will be going out together." He chuckled darkly as he jumped on a brick towards the edge of the roof. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You plan on killing me?"  
"I always have!"  
"Why now?"  
"Because there's a plot twist, Sherly!"  
"Which is?"

"Spoilers." Moriarty smirked as Sherlock walked closer. The detective yanked his foe by the tie and pulled him close until they were nose to nose. "I hate you." He whispered. "Oh, Sherly. Hate is like love, except one has rough actions..." Moriarty paused. "Such as this!" He shouted suddenly as he grabbed onto Sherlock's wrist, and yanked backwards off the building, dragging the detective with him. Sherlock gasped in shock as he pulled Moriarty closer to him as they began to fall. He held the psycho protectively, as if that would defend him. Moriarty managed one last chuckle before the two hit the ground, landing on their sides, followed by their heads hitting the ground with a sickening crack. The two died, holding each other, as they were in their last moments.


End file.
